<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Witch, Wizard, Werewolf, Professor by Sleuth_Hound</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429960">Witch, Wizard, Werewolf, Professor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleuth_Hound/pseuds/Sleuth_Hound'>Sleuth_Hound</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"Always", (When he's not a werewolf), (again!), (he just doesn't like anyone to know), Albus Dumbledore's Office, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Fawkes is Dumbledore's messanger owl, Fawkes the phoenix - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden potions, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Gryffindor Common Room, Harry Potter werewolf scene, Hogwarts Dungeons, Hogwarts Great Hall, Hogwarts Great Staircase, Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts Library Restricted Section, Hogwarts Third Year, Hurt/Comfort, Possible werewolf Hermione Granger, Potion Brewing (Harry Potter), Potions, Potions Class (Harry Potter), Prisoner of Azkaban werewolf scene, Professor Lupin is actually a very good teacher, Severus Snape Angst, Severus Snape teaching Potions, Severus Snape-centric, Snape actually gets to teach a lesson, Snape and Dumbledore having a chat, Snape cares about his students, Snape feels responsible, Snape gets summoned to Dumbledore's Office, Snape is a protective teacher, Snape is actually a pretty good teacher, Snape is making potions, Snape tries to protect the Golden Trio, Snape's motivations as a teacher, Sneaking Around, Sneaking around for highly dangerous books, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter), Werewolf Remus Lupin, Werewolf Transformation, defence against the darks arts classroom, having breakfast in the Great Hall, potion making, werewolf cure, werewolf potion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleuth_Hound/pseuds/Sleuth_Hound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione Granger is bitten by the transformed Professor Lupin on that fateful night in her third year at Hogwarts, who would have guessed that it would be her Potions Professor who would feel the most responsible?<br/>A Snape-centred story based in the Prisoner of Azkaban film in which the Potions Master shows he really does care about his students, even if he goes to great lengths to prove otherwise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albus Dumbledore &amp; Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter &amp; Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore &amp; Severus Snape, Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter &amp; Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter &amp; Severus Snape &amp; Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger &amp; Poppy Pomfrey, Hermione Granger &amp; Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger &amp; Severus Snape, Remus Lupin &amp; Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Unexpected Turn of Events</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello Potter fans, this is a new endeavour for this amateur fanfictioner on two counts. Firstly, this is my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction I've attempted. Secondly, this is my first ever (Potter or otherwise) series story. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p>
<p>This story takes place during my favourite scene from my favourite of the films, namely; the werewolf scene in Prisoner of Azkaban.</p>
<p>For the purposes of this story (please humour me on this one), you have up to 7 days to be transformed into a werewolf if bitten by one. If you don't transform after the 7th day is up, you aren't going to become a werewolf. The chances of not becoming a werewolf are pretty slim. OK, that's all, enjoy!   </p>
<p>Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban film is the property of Warner Bros.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all happened so fast and it was the currently-canine Professor who seemed the most shocked. In a sudden jolt of humanity, he backed away cautiously with a very human look of guilt and anguish on his wolven face. With an apologetic whimper, he bolted into the undergrowth and was gone.</p><p>With the immediate threat missing, it took no time at all for the small group's attention to be on Hermione. Ron and Harry simply sat and watched in a sickly, helpless worry whilst Professor Snape wasted no time in examining the wound on her right shoulder gravely.</p><p>"It's only a scratch" Ron offered in unconvincing, rather reluctant optimism but no one seemed cheered; thanks to the Professor's recent lecture, they all knew the hazards of crossing a werewolf. Pulling back a layer of his robes, the Potions Master revealed a small armoury of potion phials secured to the lining; the contents glowed and sparkled dully by the light of the full moon. Selecting one, he mechanically removed the cork bung and emptied its contents on the wound seemingly without looking at its contents.</p><p>"That is where you are mistaken Mr Weasley; it is a bite." With a sweep back of his cloak, the Professor lifted Hermione into his arms and made his way without delay towards Hogwarts, his raven black robes billowing like sails in the suddenly harsh breeze. "We must take her back to the castle in all possible haste." Snape stated simply. Although curt, bluntness was a speciality of the Potions Master's, this time, the two friends could see just how much concern and guilt was written into his features, so much that even he could not control it from showing. Powerless, Harry and Ron could do nothing but follow obediently. In the distance a howl could be heard that sounded closer to the wails of a tormented man than that of an accursed beast.</p><p>Once the third-year was safely in the care of Madame Pomfrey, Professor Snape stormed through the castle corridors like an angry black thunder cloud. Students had the habit of leaping out of his way in the normal case of events but today especially they could see was no time to obstruct his way; he was on a war path.</p><p>
  <em>He let a teacher attack a student; him! But it wasn't just a teacher, oh no, it was a bloody werewolf teacher. And it wasn't just a student, oh no, it was one of his students.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Expected (and Unexpected) Visitors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2: Expected (and Unexpected) Visitors</p>
<p>A few days had past and Hermione, although still a little blurry on the whole turn of events and potentially going to be transformed into a werewolf anytime between now and Saturday, decided she couldn't stick sitting in hospital feeling sorry for herself so was getting on with her homework. After all, werewolf bite or not, Professor McGonagall wasn't going to consider that an excuse for her perfect grades to slip. She'd had a few visitors since feeling well enough to see anyone, first there was the headmaster who brought his trademark visiting gift of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and told her a few uplifting stories of events that she'd missed. Then there was Hagrid - good old faithful Hagrid - who looked about ready to cry at any moment and kept going to engulf her in a hug before remembering her injury and settling for a pat on the hand. His eyes were still puffy and red when he eventually had to leave. And of course, Harry and Ron had visited everyday as often as class and their commitments would allow. They'd bring sweets and jokes from the Weasley Twins, cards and charms from their classmates and, as promised, brought her a new library book upon every visit. If it wasn't for the potential werewolf curse hanging in the balance and throbbing pain in his shoulder, being ill had been quite enjoyable with everyone being so kind to her.</p>
<p>Now, if she could only get hold of a copy of <em>Divine Charms and Charming Divinations by A F Holt</em> for Professor Flitwicks' homework...</p>
<p>It was on the 5th day however, when Hermione was visited by one of the last people she expected to see, short only to perhaps the Dark Lord himself. <br/>"Oh, Professor Snape!" looking up from her parchment, she exclaimed in genuine surprise; not completely sure whether to be pleased or concerned. The quill she still held in her left hand (the other being pinned to her shoulder in a sling) quivered in mid-air. He didn't exactly look like he was in a good mood, but then again, did he ever? The only acknowledgement he gave was a slight inclining bow of his head. Hermione headed off the awkward silence that was ready to engulf the gap between them by speaking first. "If it's about the assignment you set on 'The Ethics of <em>Cerebrem Libro</em> and other Memory-Improving Potions for Study'-" she said sifting through the papers arrayed on her table to find the correct one. But to her surprise, the strict Potions Master held up his hand to stop her.</p>
<p>"I am not here to collect your essay Miss Granger." He still didn't look too happy but there was a faint trace of amusement in his response, but only ever so faint. Unsure of why for Merlin's sake he was here then, she decided to just remain quiet.</p>
<p>Snape shifted uncomfortably on the spot as though unsure of what to do, though his eyes never left hers. Eventually he spoke and what he said seemed to surprise both of them. "I am... sorry Miss Granger."</p>
<p><em>Sorry? What about? Her being in hospital? Having not visited sooner? Setting her an essay in her "condition"?</em> Whatever it was, this apology was making them both uncomfortable. "Professor –"she began slowly as some means of platitude but again Snape cut her off without actually uttering a word.</p>
<p>"It is my duty as your professor and a Hogwarts teacher in general," he elaborated sombrely, "to keep you from harm but I fear-" he seemed to pause as if to recollect his scattering thoughts before continuing, "I fear I fell short in my duty on this occasion. So I am... sorry."</p>
<p>That awkward silence was threatening to creep upon them once more. Unsure of if it all really just happened, the third year student regarded her professor as he stood there unwavering and awaiting. He looked awful; his long black hair was ruffled and his sallow complexion looked even paler (if that was possible). He clearly hadn't slept a wink, and his face still held all the haunted guilt that he'd felt since that fateful, moonlit night. But before she could reply, before she could tell him that it wasn't his fault and she didn't blame him, before she could even digest what had happened in those brief moments, he had turned to retreat. With a billow of his cloak, much like a puff of black smoke, he was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dear Mr and Mrs Granger...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3: Dear Mr and Mrs Granger</p>
<p>Dumbledore, as usual when something was concerning him, was pacing in his study. He wasn't as a rule someone who became anxious from troubles but if there was one thing that was sure to make the headmaster pace, it was having to inform parents of an accident. In his long position as headmaster of Hogwarts School he was no stranger to this grim task but it never got easier, and in a way, he hoped it never would. <em>Merlin forbid, should teachers ever come to consider a student getting hurt under their care as normal or acceptable.</em> He strolled back to his desk where Fawkes dozed peacefully by his side.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Mr and Mrs Granger,</em>
</p>
<p>As if the parchment had burned his eyes, he violently turned away from the letter in shame. The small tawny owl that waited to deliver the unwritten correspondent fidgeted on the windowsill restlessly and let out a chirp of impatience. Continuing his pacing for a few minutes more, he almost returned to starting the letter once more if it hadn't been for a certain potions professor blustering in unceremoniously. Seeing that the letter wasn't going to be completed anytime soon with all these interruptions and procrastinations, the messenger owl turned and swooped off, leaving only the two professors and a snoozing phoenix.</p>
<p>"Ah, Professor Snape -"</p>
<p>"Headmaster, I wish to place myself before you for disciplinary action." The head of Slyverin stated simply as though it was self-explanatory and was probably in the older wizard's mind already. Albus Dumbledore stared bewildered for a moment before making his meticulously journey across the office, lavender robes brushing soft whispers against the flagstones, to join the ruffled Professor where he'd taken root. The air fizzed, as it always did in his office, with the residual magic that hung there eternally and the tingling, tickling sent of sherbet. Not that Severus Snape would have noticed if at this moment the entire castle was infested with stench-weasels.</p>
<p>Eventually he spoke in that irritatingly calm and airy way he always spoke as though discussing whether to have scones or cake with his afternoon tea. "I don't think that would be necessary Severus."</p>
<p>"But sir," Snape almost pleaded. It was most unusual for the stoic Professor to ever be so emotional. Peering closer, he saw a desperate look of guilt in the younger man's eyes and the end of his sentence was only a hoarse response; "I allowed it to happen." There was no point in elaborating on what "it" was; there had been seldom else anyone - both teacher and student - had thought or talked about for days.</p>
<p>The gentle, compassionate eyes of Albus Dumbledore met his and he felt he clearly wasn't making himself understood. "A teacher attacked one of my students and I didn't do anything. That girl may be cursed for the rest of her life because of my inaction." He just couldn't understand why the head of Hogwarts didn't understand.</p>
<p>"I have a report here," Dumbledore continued calmly and seemingly oblivious to the man's distress, "it's from the two young Gryffindor that were also present during the incident; Mr Potter and Mr Weasley." Professor Snape stood stark still as if expecting to be struck by a bolt of lightning at any moment. "I was given to understand by their account of the proceedings that, at the first sign of danger, you threw yourself in front of them." The headmaster turned over the parchment in his long fingers as if to remind himself of the account but, in truth, knew exactly what it had to say. "I also understand that you took a blow from the werewolf, a blow that otherwise would have harmed those very students." He looked up to see if the report was having it's desired results; the professor still stood semi-petrified to the spot but, with the quizzical look on his brow, showed promise of being revived. "Furthermore, I believe that when Miss Granger was bitten, you promptly proceeded to treat her with your own healing potions before returning her to the castle and Madame Pomfrey."</p>
<p>Eventually the frozen potions master defrosted enough to speak but only in solemn confirmation of those facts. He truly seemed ashamed of the account; <em>the man was impossible!</em> He scrutinised the professor who still remained unmoving before him; the unkempt hair, the hollow look in his red rimmed eyes, his usually immaculate black robes hanging lack-lustre from his thin frame, the obvious evidence of lack of sleep. Even if the kindly headmaster had wanted to, he believe Severus had punished himself enough already for what had happened. <em>And all this, over some students he claimed fiercely to detest?</em> Albus smiled inwardly at the predictability of his potions professor's good character which, like it or not, kept glowing through the shadowy darkness of his persona. <br/><em>He really was a very caring man if he ever bothered to show it to anyone.</em></p>
<p>"All in all," Professor Dumbledore summed up briefly, "an exemplary response to a highly perilous situation."</p>
<p>The old wizard peered over his half-moon glasses in that annoying way of portraying playful wisdom. "I would be foolish to let teachers as dedicated to their duty as that go, now wouldn't I?"</p>
<p>His final warm smile was enough to break the spell on the younger professor and he ceased playing a one-man version of musical statues. Snape sighed dejectedly and slunk wearily to the door and, presumably, back to his dungeons.</p>
<p><em>Now,</em> thought Dumbledore less cheerfully, <em>if only this task was that simple.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Mr and Mrs Granger...</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Double Double, Toil and Trouble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>(As I'm sure you're aware, the title of this chapter is taken from William Shakespeare's Macbeth.)</em>
</p>
<p>By day the halls, corridors and chambers of Hogwarts were all full and bustling of the echoing footfalls of hundreds of students, the sound of textbooks being plonked on desks reluctantly and rustles of parchment. Often, the aromas of freshly baked pumpkin pasties or earthy essences of Professor Sprout's greenhouse could be detected if your nose was pointing in the right direction, otherwise you would catch a whiff here and there of the general smells of a Hogwarts classroom; inks and feathers and steaming cauldrons – only occasionally would the suspicious sent of burning also be present. In the middle of the night however, none of these things were there. The halls were uncannily still and silent, apart from the occasion wisp of a ghost wafting about his or her business. The classrooms and offices were free from peculiar aromas or scribbling quills and the torches that lit up in welcome to anyone who came near barely had any cause to ignite at all.</p>
<p>Tonight, however, was an exception to that rule. There was someone (other than Argus Filch and Mrs Norris) that roamed the shadowy hallways and trod the ancient stone floors. Professor Snape, almost invisible in his already midnight coloured attire, craned his neck and shoulders around the door to his office and, seeing that the coast for the time being was clear, made his exit. "Non Ignium", the torches in the hallway remained extinguished as the undetected professor passed by them, almost a ghost himself. In hushed rumbling tones he uttered "Lumos" and a small orb of light radiated from the end of the Potion Master's wand, this would do as enough light for his purposes. Besides, teacher or not, if Filch caught him snooping around the castle by moonlight it would hardly bode well for him.</p>
<p>He exited the dungeons without any hitch, but to be honest, he hadn't expected the bad-tempered caretaker to be lurking around his domain. If he was going to encounter trouble, it would be nearest his destination; the library on the third floor. The rest of the Potion Professor's night time trip was equally uneventful; he kept in mind that Filch was his only real concern, if it were students he rendezvoused with in the corridors; he was the one who had the upper hand. Arriving at the Great Staircase, the moving stairs groaned in stony protest at being made to work so late and in a suddenly all-too-loud clonk it connected with the landing to the third floor. A couple of paintings flinched and squinted in the conflicting brightness against the gloom, some even uttered hushed, disgruntled comments but for the most part, his presence was unobserved. With a swish of black cloak through the arched doorway, he entered the library section.</p>
<p>He only required one book. If it had been any ordinary book, he would have simply come during daylight hours, although it would be troublesome to have others poking their noses into his affairs and was best avoided if possible. But no, the book he required was a bit more <em>exclusive</em> and a bit more treacherous magic. Sure enough, Filch was doing his rounds, muttering disapprovingly to himself about something or the other with his old-style coach lamp dangling from knarled fingers. The glow emanating from his presence shone beyond the bookcase he'd cornered for a few moments and then everything faded to blackness once more. Filch was not the quickest of men and a swift footed Professor robed in darkness found little difficulty in giving him the slip. As the cantankerous watchman's much larger beam of light illuminated his obvious location, Snape's small glow from his wand-tip was hardly noticeable at all, yet offered him all the visibility he required to navigate the rows upon rows of bookcases orderly lined with all kinds of published rarities and treasures.</p>
<p>He halted suddenly and drew back flush against a bookcase; it was that retched cat! Mrs Norris sat in front of the desired doorway seemingly uninterested in guarding Hogwarts by night and more interested in washing her front paws. Nevertheless, despite her lack of motivation for the job, she would still rise to the position and give the alarm keenly should she discover him. Unsure of what else to do, Professor Snape hung back against the bookshelves and hoped something would grab the animal's attention long enough for him to gain access. He could have cast something to fix the problem easily if it hadn't been for his secretive presence. So he waited, scarcely breathing in the uncertainty of whether the cat would come over to investigate. Holding his breath in anticipation, he heard the harsh rasping voice of her master calling; "Mrs Norris! Where are you? Come here you!" from the other end of the room. Mrs Norris's ears prick and she sprang up from her seat to softly pad her way around the end bookshelves and was gone from sight.</p>
<p>Snape, hardly believing his fortune, flung himself at the locked door he wished to access and dryly mutter "Alohomora Maxima"; the lock gave off a blue spark, fizzed and the cold, iron gate swung open invitingly into the Restricted Section and thus, closer to his goal. Unlike the occasional glow of the library's main section with Filch's lantern flooding areas of the room in comforting white/yellow, the Restricted Section had no such warmth. Whole banks of shelves were cast in staunch black monoliths against the currently mediocre light of Snape's wand. Sure that there was no prying eyes here to observe him, he maximised his light charm. The room, somewhat easier to see, was still filled with an endless void of dark space beyond the Lumos' reach. Closer to the Professor, however, were ranks of stiff mahogany bookcases from which large dust-covered chains hung down the length of the shelves like grim bead curtains. All about the room hung the feeling of unwelcome and unwanted attention –<br/><em>if you were here, the room seemed to say, you shouldn't be.</em></p>
<p>The Potions Master huffed indignantly at such superstitious rubbish and wondered, not for the first time, why Professor Dumbledore kept a forbidden section to the library if no one was allowed to ever use, or even view, its contents. Realising this area of enquiry was currently fruitless and time was rapidly running out, Snape made his way to the first towering wall of books and waves his wand in the shelves direction in order to read the vertical spines. The task took longer than the Professor of Potions would have liked; reading through chains is quite time-consuming and it wasn't as though there was a librarian he could ask on the desired texts exactly location.</p>
<p><em>Ah ha!</em> Snape's wand-beam caught the spine of a book, tattered and foxed around the edges but the silvery metallic letters down the spine glistened as fresh as the day it was published. Extracting the book carefully from its casing, Snape held the text before him in satisfaction;</p>
<p>
  <em>Draughts, Potions and Restoratives for Defending Against the Darkest Arts</em>
</p>
<p>The inside of the somewhat unassuming and plain exterior was a complete contrast; large illuminated scrolling images adorned each page of text and envisioned the purposes of each piece of text. The images did move as they so often did with more modern magical texts but this magic was rudimentary and ancient; <em>medieval</em> in fact. Many people believed the text to originally be written by Merlin the legendary sorcerer to King Arthur himself and used the tome to pass down his secret and deathly-dangerous, last-resort measures to guard against the greatest darkness. <em>But those people were idiots.</em> Snape sneered to himself in contempt as he continued to carefully examine the book for what he pursued. <em>The book was most likely written by daemon-fearing abbots or court wizards who uncovered some potent but perilous discoveries in their research.</em></p>
<p>His long, thin fingers as pale as the sun-starved pages delicately turned to the next one and there it was. A large silver moon crescent upturned at the top of the page, amongst the knotted border, more moon phases from black to full were nestled amongst the frenzy of lines. <em>This was it!</em></p>
<p>As if on cue, the iron gate he entered through creaked its warning that someone else was gaining access to the forbidden room.</p>
<p>"Anyone in here!"</p>
<p>It was that blasted Filch again! The statement was more of an accusation than an enquiry.</p>
<p>"Show yourself!" The voice quivered with the menacing thrill of the hunter, the prey and the hunt. Snape once again flattened himself against the bookshelf he'd been searching only minutes before, extinguished his still light-tipped wand and cursed silently. Filch's lamp flickered keenly against the new challenge of lighting this vast space and spun dizzily against the various surroundings as Filch shuffled from the doorway down the outer edge of the opposite row of bookcases. <em>This was his chance.</em> Concealing the book in the folds of his flowing robes Professor Snape made his bid to escape. Silently hoping he wouldn't encounter the infernal cat on his way to the exit, his luck held out and as Filch continued to walk up the infinitely long passages of books occasionally shouting threats and sneers, Snape slid through the iron entrance soundlessly once more and clutching the book desperately in his cloak, left Filch and Mrs Norris to their night patrols to head briskly for the sanctuary of the Dungeons, black robes and equally black hair trailing in his wake.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello faithful Potterheads. If, like me, you've longed to see and read more about Professor Snape actually brewing some potions; then this is the fic for you! I really enjoyed writing about Snape working on his special talent; potions. Like chapter 4, this chapter's title was taken from William Shakespeare's Macbeth.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Chapter 5: Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble</em>
</p><p>The usually meticulously organised cupboards and shelves of Hogwarts' potions master were not looking their usual best, but then again, time was of the essence. Ingredients lay sprawled across each table and work surface; arranged loosely into categories and awaiting weighting and measuring. The smell of brewing was thick in the dungeon corridors and as the evening light was blazing it's last outside the gothic window, it twinkled on the steam tendrils that hung in the room. At first glance, it appeared the resident professor was not there but looking and listening closely, the sound of glass jars clinking and scrapping dryly against wooden shelves, combined with low, indistinguishable mutterings and accompanied by the evidence of a long black cloak flooding out from within an old cupboard, would have suggested otherwise. Professor Snape emerged in full from behind the oak doors with arms full of herbs, jars and Merlin knows what kind of other things.</p><p>Time was rapidly depleting and it was imperative he got this potion right the first time. Engrossed in something productive and in his field, the stern professor was more like his usual self; cool, assured and - apart from the uncharacteristic mess – ordered. The guilt he felt still threatened to over-whelm him at times but he felt at least like this he was working on something important to occupy those idle feelings.</p><p>"Dogwood" he muttered subconsciously to himself as he reached for the ingredient and sprinkled the exact quantity into his cauldron; not a gram more, not a gram less. As he frequently told his students, often to feel it was frequently ignored; <em>precision is the art of potion making. Potions are an exact science, add only slightly too much or too little and you could completely corrupt the properties of the brew.</em> "8 grams. Ergot," he searched his table for the fungus and, upon finding, consulted his text for the amount – to slip up at this critical moment could be devastating and he had no time to start over. Removing the ingredient from his tarnished, copper scales he gently stirred the ergot into the potion with a satisfactory puff of purple smoke to confirm he was on the right track.</p><p>Completely black outside now, the potion master's office was lit only by candle as harsh lights could taint the delicate concoction and the smell of brewing was becoming more acute with hints of woodlands and dampness. "Extract of monkshood, 0.4% solution" the unwary commentary from the professor continued, the potion turning an ever so slight red before returning to its rich purple.</p><p>Now all he could do was wait and hope. It wasn't an easy potion to make, even with his years of vast experience, and it presented the very taxing requirement of its maker to sit up stirring the brew - all night possibly - until given a clear sign it was ready with a puff of iridescent silver/white smoke. Anything less would certainly be fatal. Another difficulty of the potion's creation was yet to be addressed. In its current state, it would surely never be completed as it missed a vital ingredient. However, to obtain said ingredient was not only illusive or challenging but quite impossible unless a certain someone decided to appear.</p><p>The night yawned on and every so often Snape would break his silent vigil with only the bubbling of his cauldron and licking of the flames beneath as company and interrupt the cold silence to cast "Tempus" elegantly with his free hand. An illuminated clock face would appear before him displaying the exact time before gradually fading and falling to earth like firework sparks: 2:12am. The visitor was late, if he was coming at all. Snape could only hope that even with everything that happened in this nightmarish week, he could still rely on his instinct for prediction.</p><p>His patience would eventually be rewarded in an odd sort of way. His nocturnal visitor appeared groggily into the arch of his doorway draped in an indistinguishable shadow. At first due to the gloom, of course, you couldn't tell it was him but Snape knew that the only person - the only <em>Professor</em> - that would be skulking around the corridors that this time of night must be him. "Good evening Lupin." His deep voice pierced the expanse of silence between them and the Defence Professor stepped into the room, the shadow falling off him like a discarded robe.</p><p>"Professor," he bowed his head at being discovered. He knew Snape would know and yet somehow he still felt like he'd been caught doing something wrong. Snape took his eyes off his brew to meet his coldly;</p><p>"Even someone of your nocturnal activities requires some nerve to turn up here again." He stated in a controlled anger that even Snape was taken aback by. The silence that his fellow teacher offered in response only irritated him further; <em>after all that had happened, had he nothing to say for himself?!</em></p><p>"That girl may be cursed for the rest of her life!" he still controlled his anger at this so-called teacher but he let some of the ferocity seep through as a dangerous hint of what lied beneath. He was tired, so very tired, of feeling guilty, tired of being the only one who could feel responsible, now there was someone else who was to blame. If he'd been interested, he may have seen that Professor Lupin, much like himself appeared in a pretty sorry state. He too, looked deprived of sleep and like he'd been mowed down by the twin bludgers, the quaffle and both seekers in quick succession. He even had the distinct impression of someone who looked like he'd been crying for far too long. But Professor Snape had no interest in feeling pity for this creature.</p><p>"You attacked a student!" he spat hoping he felt the full force of what he'd done, "You disgrace everything that teaching stands for! We are here to help these students, to guide them and to guard them but you broke the sacred trust between teacher and student and caused one harm. And I promise you, by Merlin, you will pay for doing that whilst I was present." The last sentence was so laced with malevolence it was barely more than a low, rumbling whisper. Never before had he spoken so strongly and so openly to anyone about how much he valued his position, how much he considered it a sacrosanct duty and what lengths he would go to defend it and the students in his care.</p><p>Much like casting a powerful spell, Snape felt the wave of his emotion recoil slightly, physically knocking him back a little. He'd been protective of his students before, although he'd never admit it and usually they'd been of his House. Again, he'd never admit it but the students of Slytherin felt very much his own; his family, his kin. He was their Head and thus, he looked out for them, watched over them and guided them as best as he could. But to feel the same guardianship over a student of a rivalling House; and one of the friends of that blasted Potter too?<br/>
<em>No one, especially that old fool Dumbledore, must ever find out.</em></p><p>"You cannot threaten me with anything I haven't already heard before Severus." Remus Lupin stated sadly, in a voice that spoke of painful and all too common experience. "Nevertheless," some of his characteristic sly charm was creeping tentatively back into his voice, as though, he still wasn't beaten. "I had a feeling you might resort to something along these lines," he gestured vaguely to the chaotic work benches, "should something go wrong." Looking up, he smiled knowingly at Snape. "That's why I came back. I knew you'd never forgive me as I shall never forgive myself," he started to wander aimlessly between the benches usually crowded with students and cauldrons. "I knew you'd threaten me; maybe even kill me, but I also knew you'd go to any lengths in an attempt to save a student and I knew you couldn't do so without my help." The man almost seemed pleased by that fact which only rattled the Potions Professor even more but, infuriating as it was, he was correct. He didn't however add that he knew if he failed and Hermione did indeed join him to walk in an accursed life, that his failure to help a student he considered he'd failed before – <em>Slytherin or not</em>- would probably permanently unhinge Severus. Little known to Professor Snape, but his deeply buried, inward goodness was not such a closely guarded secret as he assumed. But now was not the time for that and time was not on their side anyway.</p><p>Approaching the potions professor with the blade of a slightly dull knife poised casually in his outstretched hand, Lupin offered it to Snape. "Well," he said smiling mildly, "shall we crack on with it?"</p><p>Hours had passed, the potion, now complete with its final ingredient – the so-called "hair of the dog" <em>(please note: only hair freshly cut from the actual werewolf that bit the victim will be effective; stray mongrels, household pets or other werewolves will be ineffectual).</em> Now all that was left was to await the proper brewing time. The morning-night was cautiously creeping up to dawn and if the potion didn't give off its luminous moonstone smoke soon, everything - all his efforts - that night would be in vain. Stirring the mixture carefully, he silently hoped it would be finished in time. If it were successful, he was sure it would have broken records for completing a safe and effect potion of its complexity in such short notice – but of course, no one could ever know he'd done this. That wouldn't do at all. "Tempus" – the clock that appeared and faded away into the darkness read 4:45am. Not long left and the potion's silver smoke still hadn't appeared. Just when he was about to give up as a lost cause, the very faint glow of the upcoming day peering apprehensively over the brow of the hill, a miracle happened. Smoke began to rise from the cauldron; white at first but, capturing the candle light as it rose, revealed silver and otherworldly blues and purples that shot through it like lightning. They danced and twirled within the smoke in an aurora borealis and with a final sent of icy cold winds, alpine trees and fresh rain; the potion was complete.</p><p>
  <em>Neque Luna.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dubious Doubts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Day 7: The whole school had become aware by the final Saturday; time was up and it was now or never. Despite the very tangible tension that surged throughout the school like an unseen spectre, Harry and Ron made a point to visit Hermione, like it was any other day, to chat enthusiastically about the recent Quiddich game's outcome and how Seamus managed to catch fire again (whilst working on water spells of all things), how Hagrid had managed, with the help of Professor Sprout, to discover a rare form of enchanted Dog Rose that actually barked if you came too close, and Ron's postal owl diving headfirst into the cauldron of soup last night whilst making an emergency landing. Anything and everything they could think of that would make her smile and take her mind off the clock ticking and the possibility of her full humanity slinking away by tonight. Anything that made her behave and feel like the old Hermione they loved and disguised their own cold, anxious, doctor's-waiting-room dread.</p>
<p>They didn't mention, however, the fact that no one had seen Professor Lupin since that night he'd fled (not quite human) into the woods. Nor the fact that Professor Snape seemed to have lost his bite and his bark, even if it was only temporarily. He hadn't even given Seamus detention when he caught fire <em>(again)</em> to his cauldron of Burn-Resistant Balm - that <em>had</em> to mean something was wrong. <em>Perhaps the Professor was the one that got bitten and not Hermione?</em> He certainly seemed to be undergoing some kind of transformation. They also didn't mention the fact that Professor Dumbledore still couldn't bring himself to write to her parents about the incident and was telling himself it was better to address the situation after tonight; that way they could deal with facts and not speculations.</p>
<p>Hermione considered the two friends before her once she'd finished laughing at yet another anecdote from the Gryffindor Common Room – they really were the best! Harry; so brave and loyal and Ron; a bit of a goof at times but utterly pure of heart (a requirement of being a Weasley it seemed). Her mood faded with a sudden jab of doubt; <em>would they still love her if she became a werewolf? Would they still even want to talk to her? Would they be ashamed of her?</em> She instantly felt guilty for doubting their steadfast fidelity... but still... would they? The wound beneath the silver-lined bandages throbbed in grim agreement and she cursed the fact that this was happening. Over the last few days; firstly with everyone's kindness, then homework and library research, then with Harry and Ron's daily visits, she'd almost had no time to think of the consequences of her encounter with the altered Lupin. No time to think of what may happen if she didn't get better. Suddenly the prospect seemed very daunting – very lonely.</p>
<p>
  <em>This must have been how Professor Lupin had felt.</em>
</p>
<p>Seeing, and almost tangibly feeling, the sudden drop in mood, Ron and Harry simultaneously offered out their hands and wrapped them around hers. Both shot her a confident grin, just like in their first year when they went through the trap door into unknown and untold danger together. <em>Would there ever be more adventures like that if their friendship dissolved tonight?</em> But this doubt lacked its original potency. With the two friends – her two absolute best friends – smiling affectionately at her and their warm touch grounding her to reality and lending her strength – <em>how could she ever doubt them?</em> Nothing would change. Like all challenges they'd faced over the years, they would face them together.</p>
<p>Reluctantly and at the last possible moment, Harry and Ron pulled themselves away from Hermione's bedside, not before cheering her up once again though. Class was about to start and Professor McGonagall was going to use them as a scratching post if they were late (again), regardless of their <em>special circumstances.</em> So it was with a heavy heart, the duo left the one that made them a trio. Hurrying from the hospital wing, Hermione could still faintly hear the panicked ranting of Ron, informing Harry that they'd never make it to the 3th Floor in time and if the staircases weren't in their favour, McGonagall was going to claw their eyes out. As their voices grew fainter and the distance between them stretched, she could just piece together something about "forgetting his homework already". Smiling to herself in the way only that red-headed idiot could; Hermione settled on her side and tried to take an afternoon nap whilst the warmth of her friends' presence was still glowing within her and hoped it would light even her darkest nightmares.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. One More Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time seemed to lose all meaning in the infirmary at Hogwarts. A long sleep could last half an hour and a quick, lunchtime nap would last until dinnertime. It was all part of the magic of the hospital wing, Hermione had guessed. So while the school bustled on in its usual noisy ruckus, whilst patients came, got treated and left again, whilst Hagrid trimmed the hedges and watered the plants in the grounds way below the endless windows and as the afternoon lazily drifted into evening; Hermione slept on.</p>
<p>It was about that time that classes were wrapping up for the day and a sea awash with witches and wizards of various ages filled the cloisters and corridors with busy, lively chatter. Snippets of conversation such as; <em>"did you understand that bit about feeding your mandrake?"</em> or <em>"... but what is the difference between a curse and a hex?"</em> as well as general groans about homework or upcoming tests or just plain fatigue could all be heard as the tide of students flooded the halls en route to their various dorms. But sooner or later, as quickly as the flash-flood of students appeared, they were gone again leaving the almost empty avenues echoing and lonely once more and only a few lingering puddles of students still remained. Somewhere near the main entrance, Filch who had been sweeping up sullenly before being almost swept away himself by the hoards of suddenly unleashed students, muttered disapprovingly something about "no respect these days" to Mrs Norris who continued washing herself passively at his feet.</p>
<p>Professor Snape had been wondering how he could manage to complete his task without having half of the school finding out (and the other half finding out tomorrow). Thankfully, classes had been on his side and he'd had the whole day busy with students, couple of detentions and some time in-between to catch up on the marking he'd neglected the previous evening; leaving the Potions Professor free as late afternoon and early evening began to blur to deliver his potion with the optimum chance of not being discovered. True, he could just whisk it there through magic but after all the trouble it had taken and the precious little time left, he took no chances in ensuring it reached its destination unscaved. Besides, he had ever inkling that half the teachers at Hogwarts would be able to get a whiff of what was going on that way; <em>no, no this way was far more subtle and cunning and Slytherin.</em></p>
<p>Watchfully he left his office but upon seeing the corridors deserted for a change, he continued on through the dungeons and proceeded to make his way towards the first floor still undetected except for a few uninterested students dashing past. It wasn't like he had to sneak about; he was a Hogwarts teacher and had every right to go anywhere at any time for any reason and answer to no one, but still, he'd rather not have to explain to any of his nosey fellow Professors or Madame Pomfrey. Besides, rumour had it Madame Pomfrey had a sinister-side that would put even him to shame.</p>
<p>Turning quickly into the hospital wing, he saw nothing but golden, orange light pour through the long, paned windows like trickling honey and a row of mostly empty beds, the whites of the bed sheets dyed yellow by the warm, glowing light. Hogwarts was fortunate that most cases that required medical aid from the resident nurse were minor – broken bones (or no bones at all), a touch of hex, pinch from a fire crab - and could be easily treated with a quick incantation or charmed bandage so the hospital mostly remained this way; quiet. Hermione, who he'd visited earlier that week, was still in the second to last bed on the left from where he stood and, judging by her posture, appeared to be resting peacefully. All was going according to plan.</p>
<p>When it suited his purposes, Professor Snape was well known for making almost no earthly noise at all when he moved. Apart from the gentle clack of his boot heels and swish of his long cloak, the potions master was practically a ghost. Many a first year had learned this the hard way when sneaking about the corridors at night only to find the snake-like grip of a certain Professor's hand on their shoulder or turned a corner to be scared out of their wits when they collided with the deathly figure of Professor Snape by moonlight. Of course, the opposite could also be said and, when it suited him, the Earth practically cracked with the harsh clip of his boots and the rippling whoosh of his cloaks could almost summon a gale. This was not one of those times however; <em>stealth was very much of the essence.</em></p>
<p>Even the resident guard dog – Madame Poppy Pomfrey – seemed to be occupied elsewhere so Snape wasted no time in performing his task without delay. He glided down the row of beds surprisingly swiftly until he slowed as he approached Miss Granger's, unsure of whether he'd wake her if he moved too suddenly. She seemed undisturbed by his presence and was lying facing her back to him leaving him free to proceed with caution without detection. The small table beside her bed was aligned with a colourful array of small bottles; their enchanted contents and ornate glass stoppers glittered, swirled and sparkled as the evening's glow shone through them from the enormous window behind. Thin fingers draped in dark cloth outstretched and revealed a small vial of their own. In a swift motion, he gently eased the bottle in amongst its fellows and, in a fluid motion, turned on his heels and headed for the doorway. The content, disturbed by the sudden motion, swirled and sparked silver flecks like stars in a smoky sky before eventually settling once more into the electric purple mixture. The unassuming bottle, although less elaborate than the others and clear in colour, still boasted a pure silver stopper and a small sprig of mistletoe adorned the neck, the label read simply in an elegant scroll; <em>Neque Luna.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Potion Paradox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hogwarts' resident nurse looked at the watch Professor Dumbledore had given her as a gift for her long service and mark of appreciation, it could tell you the time in any place (magical or muggle) and the date of any event (magical or muggle) in history. However, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the time read 18:30 <em>– good gracious! Where had the time gone?</em> She still had to give her patients (mercifully few) their medicines, check a first year Hufflepuff's cauldron burn and send that 5th year Slytherin to bed with his spitting-venom boils. So much to do!</p>
<p>She bustled out of her office at the end of the ward, arms full of bandages, bottles and charts and still muttering under her breath about the best treatments for her patients when, out of the corner of her eye, she almost missed a curious sight. Briefly, she glimpsed a flick of black as it rounded the corner, making for hospital's exit. As soon as she'd seen it, it was gone again. Madame Pomfrey blinked momentarily stunned; unsure of what she'd just seen or whether she'd even seen anything at all. Surely she had been alone here the whole time? The late afternoons were usually so quiet from new patients, students and teachers alike. She sighed and decided it was unimportant and there was still so much to be done.</p>
<p>
  <em>A giant purple wolf. Everything pitch black. Everything except a large white circle; the moon. Upon it's unveiling from a screen of cloud, the wolf gives chase and Hermione cannot seem to avoid it. She's going to be consumed by this primal and utterly ruthless beast. Panic; why can't she get away? She trips on nothing and finds she is utterly stricken. The wolf will be upon her any second and she cannot even scream her terror.</em>
</p>
<p>Oh no, not this again.</p>
<p>
  <em>But as the wolf pounces, something new enters the dreamscape. A large shimmering black crow intercepts the wolf before its attack. There's something vaguely familiar about this scene. About someone trying to save her. About this crow. But it's difficult to see, like peering through smoke. As the crow's wings flap in slow-motion it creates the recognisable sound of robes catching the wind and a word springs to mind before she can ask herself why; Professor?</em>
</p>
<p>"Hermione? Miss Granger?" <em>Huh... Who's there?</em> "Hermione, dear, wake up!"</p>
<p>Groggily the third year witch did as she was told and found herself, slightly dazed and confused as is often the case when awoken suddenly, before her mind recalibrated and she remembered where she was.</p>
<p>
  <em>Of course, the hospital wing.</em>
</p>
<p>Her shoulder throbbed dully its agreement to her conclusion. As she vaguely at first, started to recall her senses the third year remembered she'd been dreaming, well, it would actually be classed as more of a <em>nightmare.</em> That was to be expected. She'd been told by Madame Pomfrey that part of the werewolf virus was experiencing nightmares; sort of an immune reaction to being under attack. And so far this week she'd experienced them every night or even quite often when she closed her eyes.</p>
<p><em>Although,</em> she screwed up his brow as she tried to recall the intangible facts of a slipping away memory; they'd always ended the same; she got devoured by the horrible beast, it transforming her, changing her and she would turn to those she cared for and not know them. She would hurt them, kill them, and the part that scared her even more was; <em>she wouldn't even care.</em> She'd never actually been saved by anything – <em>anyone</em> – before.</p>
<p>Hermione would have dwelled on this further, her logical mind still trying to unlock this strange puzzle but Madame Pomfrey was having none of it. "Time to take your potions dear," the young witch had come to learn that when the nurse wanted your co-operation, especially in a task most unpleasant, she'd resort to "dear" and it was best for all concerned not to argue. After almost a week of taking the colourful but still nonetheless unappealing collection of vials she had become somewhat resigned to the task and only met it with moderate dread. Besides, the quicker she got it out the way, the sooner she could go back to unravelling the mystery of her altered dream and its connection to her bizarre situation.</p>
<p>One by horrific one, Hermione drained the contents of each potion. Involuntarily, she screwed up her face with the reaction resembling drinking lime juice as she swallowed the foul mixture she'd just endured. She could swear that they grew in quantity and vulgarity with each passing day. <em>Like this one for example,</em> she picked up the unspectacular bottle with a sprig of mistletoe still draped around it, <em>surely this one was new?</em> The third year almost asked Madame Pomfrey about it but decided against it – she too had heard the tales of the nurse's terrifyingly fierce-side when challenged and this was no time to test that theory. Removing the silver stopper, she peered at the contents, sparking and swirling much like the sky in that Muggle Painter's work. A strange feeling washed against her; potent and, as silly as it sounded in a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, magical. The very tips of her fingers seemed to tingle and hum in anticipation of the purple liquid. Closing her eyes tight she braced herself for the awful sensation; salty and musty with a hint of earth. In disgust, she discarded the bottle on the table with all the other empty victims and reluctantly moved on to the next one.</p>
<p>Unbeknownst to the young Gryffindor, Madame Pomfrey had noticed the mysterious vial too. Her mind flashed back to preparing the potions but she still had no recollection of that one at all. She'd briefly managed to glance the label; <em>Neque Luna</em>, he mind strained to remember; <em>Neque Luna, Neque Luna...</em> Then it hit her like an accurate Expelliarmus. Her mind cast back to the odd occurrence of the black cloak disappearing around the corner almost undetected and suddenly everything made sense. She smiled a knowing smile to herself; <em>so that's why he was slinking about the hospital wing undetected. He really couldn't bear anyone knowing how much he cares.</em> She shook her head slightly in a gesture of not understanding how the Head of Slytherin's mind worked but nonetheless grateful for his skills. <em>But should she inform Hermione of the gesture? No, she decided in the same breath, the professor wouldn't want anyone to know and as far as he knows, no one does. So it shall remain that way.</em></p>
<p>The light outside had now faded to the colour of that mysterious potion and was turning inkier by the minute, with a resolute smile to herself Hermione peered out the window. <em>Night time already? Not much time left...</em> Smoke could be seen puffing out of Hagrid's hut and the faint yet warm glow of a light at his cottage-style window made her long to see him again. <em>If he'd ever want to see her again.</em> She told her inner voice of doubt to shut up as it clearly didn't know the kindly grounds keeper like she did. He would be one of the last people to forsake anyone; be them cursed, muggle, half-blood, creature, witch or wizard. Her soft brown eyes lifted sadly to the moon; all the romance and mystery that the moon held seemed cold and unforgiving now. <em>The moon after tonight may be her greatest fear, greatest weakness and greatest enemy.</em></p>
<p>She thought about her friends, tucked up in the Gryffindor common room. <em>Ron's probably skiving from his homework,</em> she stifled a snigger which morphed into a smile of affection. <em>And Harry's probably telling him off. Good old Harry.</em> Silently she wished them both goodnight and hoped to see them again in the morning unchanged. And if the worst did happen, she hoped they would still see her. She settled down resigned to the fact she would be visited by the purple wolf again as she had for so long now but also hoped that perhaps the glimmering crow would also come and help her again. Becoming a werewolf didn't feel so daunting if she wasn't facing it alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Sleepless at Hogwarts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Harry?" the voice came across the circular room in the almost complete darkness of the room. Harry did consider ignoring it, he could be asleep and therefore it was perfectly reasonable for him not to answer.</p>
<p>"What is it Ron?"</p>
<p>"Are you asleep?" The Boy-Who-Lived had often wondered why middle of the night conversations always began with this – surely you wouldn't be having a chat with someone in the grips of sleep? He could see where this was going but despite himself still answered.</p>
<p>"No, are you?"</p>
<p>Ron seemed to take this answer much more seriously and replied he wasn't. "I can't stop thinking about Hermione." Harry's heart also felt heavy with the weight of their friend's fate hanging in the balance and he knew Ron felt the same. "Do you think she'll be alright?" This was the first time either of them had voiced any doubt whatsoever on the fact Hermione would get better, both of them had felt like acknowledging there was doubt was somehow betraying their belief in her but in the cold light of night, everything seemed so much more raw and unnerving. Even with his own gloomy doubts, Harry tried to maintain the status quo;</p>
<p>"Of course she'll be alright Ron. Madame Pomfrey said it was a good sign she'd lasted this long without the curse taking over." Harry only wished he felt as confident as he hoped he sounded. As illogical and mad as it was in the dead of night, he desperately longed to see Hermione – to confirm she was OK, but he knew that was impossible and if they both got indefinite detentions thanks to Filch, then how would they see Hermione?</p>
<p>Ron seemed cheered by this, or perhaps, he didn't want to dampen Harry's supposed optimism. "Yeah, of course she will. Don't know what I was thinking. And even if she did become a werewolf, she'd still be getting straight A's on all her essays – especially that one Snape set."</p>
<p>Like someone cast Lumos, the stifling darkness that threatened to choke them was lifted. Harry and Ron chuckled with the light-hearted back and forth of their friendship and only wished that their intellectual witch-friend was with them to complete their group. Much cheered by their remembering of happy (and even not so happy) memories, they chattered and chortled in hushed tones reminiscing all the occasions they could recall; how Hermione had first met them by informing Ron of his dirty nose or how she was the only person who could master Wingardium Leviosa out of the whole class. How she knew exactly what to do when Hagrid's fire hedgehog had the chills and how she'd let Malfoy have it right in the eye only a few days before. That one was Ron's favourite and even Harry had to admit a certain amount of satisfaction from it. They smile affectionately at how their friend could be downright frustrating at times and both agreed wholeheartedly that they wouldn't change her for all of the money in Gringotts. Both the young wizards knew they wouldn't sleep a wink that night but it didn't matter as they felt energised by reliving the wonderful memories they had all shared together and schemed of the many things to come once Hermione was better. Even if that wasn't the case and Hermione didn't get better; both of the steadfast friends knew, despite never needing to express it, that it wouldn't change a thing.</p>
<p>Meanwhile in Hogwarts Castle that night, the young Gryffindors were not the only one who couldn't obtain a peaceful nights rest. A certain Slytherin professor was restless tonight too. There was no doubt that Snape had absolute confidence in his potion making skills – <em>he was a Potions Master after all and you don't take that title lightly</em> – but still it did little to prevent him feeling concerned. So much was relying on this and if the mixture had been slightly too monkshood-heavy, not only would he have failed to save the student he couldn't save before, but he would more than probably be her murderer too. Neque Luna was a very complex and very dangerous potion to be dabbling with – especially with little time and a fraught mind to craft it.</p>
<p>He'd not even attempted to go to bed – knowing himself too well to consider rest when so much was at stake – so instead he sat as his old ink and assorted potions stained workbench in his office and attempted to mark some practical potions coursework. Still wearing his famous black robes with only the addition of a scruffy and worn, silver and green blanket cast over his shoulders he lifted a test tube of emerald green liquid and raising it to the light, scribbled something quickly with his quill.</p>
<p>
  <em>Urgh, Miss Howells, the 5th year Ravenclaw still couldn't remember how many grams of knotweed were required to make Lavartus and her classmate, Mr Simmonite (a Hufflepuff) still couldn't get the consistency of his Deadly Nightshade experiment correct – it still needed to be thicker and less oily.</em>
</p>
<p>His heart and mind wasn't really in this either but he had hours to fill until morning and the awaited news of Miss Granger's condition. Furthermore, the pang of guilt that had slightly subdued since finding a constructive solution was flaring up again like the wall torches when approached and attempting to find another practical solution to fill the void seemed the only sensible alternative. So sleep was definitely out of the question.</p>
<p>The long plume of his quill drew surreal, flickering shadows on the smooth stone walls and the air was undisturbed by potions brewing or gasless Bunsens blazing tonight. His eye fell upon the cauldron from the all-night brewing session still awaiting sanitation by the sink area and was once again forced to confront the heavy truth of how much rested on last night's work. Grimly, his brow furrowed and flicking down his quill in frustration the potions professor decided he'd had enough marking for tonight and it was time he, at least attempted, to get some rest. <em>Thank Merlin tomorrow was Sunday and at least his duties would be minimal.</em> With a distracted wave of his wrist, all potion phials vanished from his desk and replaced themselves in his pending-marking cabinet behind him. And glaring one final time judgementally at the used cauldron still there, taunting him, before he left, he closed the ancient oak door to his office behind him and inserted a long pewter key with a serpent winding down the neck into the scuffed iron key hole. <em>Click.</em></p>
<p>Pocketing the ornate key once more, Snape made yet another almost silent trip; this time towards his quarters, still unable to get the image of that large black cauldron standing in a silent vigil in the now dark Potion Master's room from out of his mind's eye. <em>He really should clean that cauldron before it rusted– but first thing tomorrow. Yes, everything would be resolved first thing tomorrow.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Even Hermione Can Dread Test Results</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione stirred reluctantly as the morning light from the gigantic and fragmented panels of glass behind her bed danced playfully on her eyes. Even before she opened them though, she could distinctly smell something wonderful – breakfast; toast, bacon, eggs, orange juice, coffee, it was all there. And it was obvious the sun was out by the warm tattoo it was rapping on her face whilst she lay there. Finally, with sleepy effort, she decided to greet the day, or at least the breakfast that was awaiting her. Sure enough; instead of an unnerving array of potion bottles, a much more welcoming spread of vibrant, inviting food lay before her on her over-bed table including a refreshingly zesty orange juice in a clear glass chalice and coffee steamed its rich aroma from a metallic one.</p>
<p>Distracted by the glorious start to her morning, it only dawned on Hermione as she was eating heartily that something had been missing. <em>No, not on the breakfast table (although some more toast would have been appreciated)</em>, but from the previous night's sleep. She'd gone to bed convinced she'd once again play cat and mouse with the huge purple wolf of her nightmares, she'd even thought the sparkling black crow might make an appearance again but neither ever came. She'd dreamt of the usual things; school and her friends, cheering wildly at Quiddich games, visiting Hagrid to see what extraordinary creature he was enamoured with this week or going and eating far too many pumpkin pasties with Harry and Ron in Hogsmead. Even visiting the Shrieking Shack with Ron; both of them being too stubborn to admit they were pretty frightened combined with the strange sensation of being somewhat unafraid in the company of Ron despite their eerie surroundings. All the wonderful things she'd seen and done since the emerald inked letter had hit her doormat back at home. She'd even dreamt of Professor Snape setting them all a vast essay with a low murmur of objection from the assembled class but even that hadn't been a nightmare. <em>After all, she rather liked essays.</em></p>
<p>Before she could come to understand the significance of this, the third year student also considered for the first time how she had actually felt since awaking this morning. If it wasn't for the fact that she knew it probably wasn't the case, she would have answered that she felt unexplainably good; great even. It rather saddened her that she feared to know the true answer to that question. As if on cue, Madame Pomfrey arrived at her bedside looking bright and breezy as usual, maybe even more so; "Good morning Hermione" she offered gently and sent a cold chill of dread down the young witch's spine much like being too close to one of the Dementors currently prowling the castle.</p>
<p>A younger nurse who'd followed in the head nurse's wake held before her an ancient-looking mahogany box with scrolling silver inlay and a complex catch. Turning towards that box Madame Pomfrey now extracted the contents and with a dismissive word of thanks, the younger nurse departed; leaving them alone. With nervous trepidation but also her natural curiosity, Hermione enquired about the peculiar artefact the nurse was allowing to dangle through her fingers. Despite its decorative box, the object was remarkably plain – at least at first glance. A sort of chain necklace from which an upturned crescent moon hung about the size of her palm. The whole piece was made of a shining, moonbeam silver with small moonstones which proceeded to hang independently further up the chain. Hermione frowned at the object having, despite all her research over the years into magical totems and trinkets, never encountered something like this before.</p>
<p>"This", Madame Pomfrey showed Hermione properly in way of an explanation, "is a Lupus Luna charm – a sort of werewolf test." The last bit was almost a joke which made Hermione even more uneasy. She continued to hold the moon steadily before the young Gryffindor as if showing it around a class of inquisitive students, "the entire piece is made of the purest silver cast on the night of a full moon and infused with nocturnal magic." Inspecting it closer some faint, swirling lettering could be made out curving around the crescent; <em>Per Lunem Lunae, Tu Lupus?</em> Madame Pomfrey would have explained further but Hermione, having been one of the few to actually complete Professor Snape's werewolf scrolls with special emphasis on recognising it knew already.</p>
<p>
  <em>Werewolves have incredible healing powers and are almost invincible once transformed. They are however weakened by silver and cannot heal themselves from injuries inflicted by it. The touch of anything silver to a werewolf – be them in human or wolf form – is similar to being severely burnt.</em>
</p>
<p>Madame Pomfrey smiled warmly to her in a mixture of sympathy and apprehension herself. Lowering the talisman to the Gryffindor's forehead she spoke softly; "This won't hurt dear", again she'd used the affectionate term so Hermione instinctively felt guarded that it most certainly would. It was really rather like the muggle doctors that growing up Hermione used to visit; "this won't hurt" they would always assure you just before they jabbed something painful into your arm or prodded just where something hurt. <em>Wizarding world or muggle; some things never changed.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Once More into the Headmaster's Office</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11: Once More into the Headmaster's Office</p><p>The anticipation was almost at breaking point right across the four Houses of Hogwarts School. No one had heard the latest outcome of the infamous news that had been spreading the school like marmalade on toast. The tension was so tangible it felt like any moment the elastic band holding everything taught was either going to snap under the pressure or ping back into sore fingers.</p><p>Those in the House of Gryffindor especially felt it – she was of their House and thus practically family. The Gryffindor Common Room; usually the brightest, cheeriest, most raucous and boisterous and full of chatter of all the common rooms, especially at the weekend, was uncharacteristically sombre and mellow this morning. No one felt like telling jokes or laughing or flying their broomsticks daringly around the enclosed space (against McGonagall's strict orders) – even the ever-looking-for-fun Weasley Twins sat slouched in a couple of armchairs lethargically and didn't seem in the mood today. Harry and Ron had been informed that Hermione wouldn't be allowed visitors until after her results and had been ushered hurriedly back towards the painting of the Fat Lady. Even she was looking downtrodden and refused to let loose even a single, wonky note. So they also sat by the eternally blazing fireplace with their faces resting on their hands in an anxious anticipation. <em>Even if they did anything it wouldn't be the same without Hermione.</em> So they all waited; much like the entire school was holding its breath and normal magical service would not resume until something – <em>anything</em> - happened.</p><p>Meanwhile in the dungeons, Professor Snape had had a rather rough night himself. He'd been sleeplessly tormented all night by the whirling image of that creature attacking the girl and his frozen-stiff inaction in a continual, trancelike loop like a magical photo; set to replay time and time again. So it was fair to say he was feeling even more surly than usual. <em>And still he'd heard nothing.</em> Surely he, unlike the students, didn't have to await an answer via the usual methods of seeping gossip and tittle-tattle? He was a Hogwarts teacher after all; and therefore had a right to discover the truth before a bunch of nosey students with nothing better to do. Besides, he felt if he waited any longer for any kind of news at all, his guilt and concern may dissolve him completely much like some of his nastier potions.</p><p>His morning was already not up to a great start by the time he received the summons. It happened around the time that, going out of his mind with not-knowing, he decided to – as he always did – bury himself into some private research of his beloved potions. So it was a pouring, stirring and reading intently from a dusty and stained book Professor that was found by that fool's infernal messenger bird. At first, the Potions Master didn't notice the swooping creature of fable as it swept into the room like a large feather duster; being too absorbed in his studies and private thoughts, until a large smouldering red/orange mass perched itself on the edge of his enormous cauldron – a feat that would have badly burnt any other creature but, of course, the infamous firebird was cheerfully unaffected. The bird sat there, head to one side as though summing up his quarry, until finally with a triumphant squawk it dropped the note into a reluctant Snape's outstretched hand and glided expertly out of his office. Grasped in the icy clutches of foreboding, the professor unfurled the note;</p><p>Professor Snape, Please report immediately to the Headmaster's office.</p><p>In the normal case of events, the potions teacher would have been furious – being summoned like an obedient pet! However, this time Snape almost met the news with an unprotesting it-was-going-to-happen-sooner-or-later quality. Smiling his barely-there smile wanly at the pot of bubbling potential still brewing, he briefly considered if he's ever see his office again to finish it. <em>Instant dismissal</em> he mused soberly, <em>surely the Headmaster's Summoning could only mean that.</em> Taking one last glance at the room he called his office, organised to his liking for optimum efficiency and expedience, and was surprised to feel a twinge of affection and a pang of emptiness at probably being forced to vacate it.</p><p>His journey along the hallways and paths leading out of the dungeons and up stairways was rather routine, although Snape did most of it as though an automaton replying to a recall program. His first awareness of the trek across Hogwarts he'd made was when the black-clad Professor approached the equally black and gleaming griffin statue and, uttering the somewhat ridiculous password, was granted access to ascend the stairwell.</p><p>As usual, the light and airy office held its usual sherbet fizzing essence – as though something important and exciting was permanently imminent. Fawkes - who had returned home once satisfied the message had been received - soared effortlessly though the high-ceilinged office; through Flying Buttresses and the vaulting cathedral of architecture, occasionally letting out a gentle and exotic crow of delight at such freedom. <em>At least someone seemed happy this morning.</em></p><p>Trying not to appear too concerned and perhaps even a little miffed at being summoned without warning, the professor announced neutrally; "you wished to see me Headmaster?"</p><p>The Headmaster in question had been (on purpose Snape was certain) sorting through the contents of a golden decorative cabinet with his back to him and appeared to have not noticed his arrival. Upon setting eyes on him, his face lit up as though they hadn't spoken in years, rather than a few days and not particularly warmly then. "Ah Professor!"</p><p>Snape's frame stiffened at this; knowing the old Professor, he would draw this out as long as possible with all sorts of niceties and platitudes. <em>A true Slytherin,</em> thought Snape ruefully, <em>would much rather have the truth swiftly and unadorned with pleasantries.</em> Smirking to himself he wondered if the next thing he knew he'd be offered a cup of tea or something.</p><p>"Can I offer you something to drink?" offered Dumbledore amiably as though the host of a garden party rather than head teacher of a magic school.</p><p><em>He was right.</em> Snape's smirk switched expertly to a scowl, <em>this was going to be a long business.</em></p><p>Deciding that attempting to speed up the process usually just ended in it halting altogether; the Professor promptly declined a drink and stood his ground as he awaited the purpose of his visit, although still gripped by the hard, sinking feeling of already knowing. Professor Dumbledore tisked and tutted to himself and voice the opinion that the younger teacher had never been one for socialising and really needed to be more extroverted and less shy. <em>Bloody hell, this was going to take a long time.</em></p><p>Finally, after offering him biscuits, pear drops, cauldron cakes, scones and even "something a bit stronger" – the Headmaster appeared to redirect himself back on course to the point of it all. Settling down in a couple of easy chairs, although to Severus Snape it might as well been a wooden park bench for all the comfort it offered him presently, and looking over his half-moon spectacles in a twinkling sense of knowing.</p><p>"I'll come to the point of my calling for you to drop in Severus. In regards to the incident involving Miss Granger and Professor Remus Lupin," Dumbledore began meticulously, Snape's heart became heavy enough it could have sunk in a pond like a stone – <em>So it was about that.</em> "I feel you should be the first to know -"</p><p>"Headmaster," interrupted Snape urgently, although rather unsure as to what he was going to say. After all, he had been the one to breach the idea in the first place. Fortunately, the elder professor held up an elegant hand robed in a sky blue and silver as if in anticipation of what the Potions Professor was objecting to and intercepting it before the misunderstanding got out of hand.</p><p>"Severus, please." Was all he needed to say in his kindly, gentle voice to get co-operation. Satisfied that he'd averted any delay to his explanation he continued, "I felt you should be the first to know, in light of your expressed concern and involvement with the events that occurred, I felt it was only fair to inform you first that Miss Granger's lycanthropy test came out negative and she will make a full recovery."</p><p>It was like he'd been suddenly drenched by a bucket of cold tea. An avalanche of thoughts and emotions collided in the calculating mind of Severus Snape and for a moment he was unsure of everything – where he was, what they were discussing, what the headmaster had just said – he sat there unreasoning until eventually, like fog clearing on a moor, everything began to gather focus once more and one clear thing came to his understanding. <em>If Miss Granger was not a werewolf, if she were to make a full recovery; it meant it had worked - the potion had worked!</em></p><p>"Oh."He said dryly with only an edge of intrigue, sure that if he uttered more he might reveal too much.</p><p>The older man regarded him over his small spectacles again and smiled in that affectionate, conspiratorial way he had with the students; "There's really no need to be so stoic about it all Severus." He stated a little playfully, "I know you blamed yourself for the events as they unfolded and held yourself responsible for not preventing Miss Granger getting injured." He could have added <em>"we all know"</em> but decided to refrain – Severus had been through enough already without feeling acute embarrassment as well.</p><p>Since the Stupefied professor was still somewhat stunned by the news, Dumbledore continued on a different track quickly before Snape realised his inner feelings on the subject had been breached. "It would seem that owing to Miss Granger's muggle heritage, it made her less susceptible to the lycanthropy virus than that of a full or even, half blooded witch or wizard." Snape's mind, now alert, processed this intensely – <em>does he not know about the Neque Luna?</em> – A cunning edge to the Potions Master's face crept over him. <em>So there are some things you don't know.</em></p><p>"Of course," the headmaster added casually as he sipped his tea from a delicate cup, "even with muggle genes, the chances of not getting infected are still rather on the marginal side." He sipped his tea again, which Snape was certain were only for dramatic effect. "Unless of course," he had that gleam of conspiratorial mischief dancing in his eyes once more, "someone happened to... <em>tip the balance</em>?"</p><p>If the younger Professor had accepted one of the beverages offered to him, he may well have choked on it at this moment. Since he had nothing to sip during their discussion, he simply sat trying to look - for once in his life – as ignorant to what Dumbledore was suggesting as possible. "And who could possibly have done that, Professor?" He suggested coolly as though he couldn't imagine the idea really having much merit.</p><p>At this the headmaster looked equally clueless and puffed out his cheeks in a symbol of uncertainty and defeat. Never for very long did his warm eyes leave the dark gaze of Hogwarts' Potions Master. "It could be anyone." Dumbledore said dismissively, "no one quite knows how it happened or how the treatment got administered to Miss Granger right under the noses of the hospital wing staff and the patient in question." The tension created of Snape's unknown nocturnal pursuits being discovered eased slightly. <em>He doesn't know after all.</em></p><p>"Anyway, Professor," the Headmaster slowly rose from his chair as a sign their meeting was at an end, "I mustn't take up any more of your valuable time. I believe your Slytherins are playing the Ravenclaws later at Quiddich – a most interesting game I am sure - and I expect you have some duties to perform before then." He gestured in a thankful rising of his arm towards the door by way of offering permission for Professor Snape to depart.</p><p>"Thank you for keeping me informed Headmaster." Snape bowed his head slightly in a sign of respectful thanks and made his way towards the door, his boots echoing in the office's vaulting acoustics. He'd managed to get as far as to wrap his hand around the doors edge to close it after him when one last thing Dumbledore said halted the professor's momentum stark in the doorway and shattered any illusions he had of his cleverly-weaved and undiscovered plan;</p><p>"Tricky potion to make is the <em>Neque Luna.</em> I should take some time to have a rest Severus."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Elation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It may have been true that at the time of Snape and the headmaster's discussion they had been the only two people outside of the infirmary staff that knew about Hermione's condition but it certainly didn't remain that way for long. Word travelled fast around Hogwarts and by the time morning had turned over into afternoon and the awaited Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin game was imminent – most of the school knew. Anyone who was left in the dark would soon be informed by Colin Creevey, newly appointed reporter for the school paper; The Hogwarts Hoot, who enthusiastically printed and circulated the news to all and sundry. By the time everyone had assembled on the Quiddich grounds, it was the talk of the school and the atmosphere of high excitement and enjoyment had been fully restored to all Houses.</p>
<p>The Gryffindors had been some of the first to learn, however when asked Fred and George simply explained it elusively as <em>"having connections"</em>, not that anyone particularly cared how they knew after they'd heard. This time around, much to Professor McGonagall's displeasure if she'd discovered, there was some elicit broom riding inside the common room. The Gryffindor spirit of energetic and noisy wholeheartedness had been restored. Harry and Ron looked at each other as the celebrations and lively chatter exploded all around them like fireworks; both couldn't remove the enormous grins that had captured their faces and refused to realise them. Whilst everyone else at the school gathered at the Quiddich pitch in high and joyful spirits; there was only one place the two friends wanted to be. Running through the corridors as fast as they could; uncaring if they got caught by Filch or Snape or anyone else and undeterred by threats of detentions or additional homework if caught, Harry and Ron darted straight for the Hospital Wing.</p>
<p>When they arrived, they looked down the row of beds and their crisp white sheets glistening brightly in the sun. Hermione was there, sat on top of the bed, reading a hefty leather-bound tome and making notes enthusiastically with her quill still resting uneasily in her left hand. They had never been so glad to see her as her usual, overly-studious self. They only paused there in the doorway for a moment, just to briefly allow how good it felt to see her before sink in before bursting into the room, completely ignoring the warning of "no running" from one of the older nurses present. So engrossed in her book, the young witch barely heard the bombardment of her friends entering the room and only noticed their presence when they reached her bedside. Her face, deep in concentration erupted into a smile of gladness and relief.</p>
<p>"Hello Harry, Ron." She tried to keep herself from just sitting their grinning like an idiot at her friends but seeing as they were doing the same they all took a moment just to smile and laugh in each other's company at nothing in particular. Finally after the euphoric effect of seeing her friends again had subsided, even only slightly, she managed to speak. "Did you hear the news?"</p>
<p>There really was no point in specifying <em>which news.</em> "I think to be honest half the school has." Ron said with a half shrug.</p>
<p>"And Colin's making sure the other half will know soon." Harry chipped in helpfully. Hermione laughed and it sounded like the best thing either Ron or Harry had ever heard. They truly had their old friend back and it was the best thing in the world – Wizarding or muggle.</p>
<p>Hermione finally admitted, now that it was all over, that she had been rather terrified during the whole experience. She eyed them in playful suspicion; "and I bet you two were worried sick, <em>weren't you?</em>" Harry and Ron looked at each other knowingly for a moment; <em>they had been worried sick. The thought that Hermione had been hurt and both of them would have done anything, given anything, paid any price to prevent it, but still could only do nothing. It had been slowly yet maddeningly devouring them inside ever since it happened. But they weren't about to admit that to her face now, were they?</em></p>
<p>It was Harry's turn to shrug in a noncommittal sort of way; "we never doubted you for a moment." He stated in a light-hearted coolness, "Did we Ron?"</p>
<p>His partner in this little white lie smiled slyly; "course not. Although I must say Hermione I am disappointed." He crossed his arms and shook his head slowly in mock disapproval. "This must be the first test you've ever failed."</p>
<p>Like a tap being turned on full blast; the small group exploded into a stream of continual laughter and, despites the attempts of the older nurse from before to shhh them or at least keep their noise down to a minimum; it was to no avail.</p>
<p>Since the news had spread quicker than a virus itself, Hermione found herself with more visitors than ever after the Quiddich game (Slytherin won), despite being informed that she was perfectly well, the bite had healed nicely and she'd be released from the infirmary the next morning just to be sure. Visitors from all years and Houses brought small gifts or cards or just warm wishes, even people Hermione was sure she'd never met or spoken to before but it just reminded her how, whichever House you got sorted into, Hogwarts itself was still one big family.</p>
<p>Later into the afternoon, Rubeus Hagrid lumbered into the room, a towering dark mass stark against all the bright, clean white linen holding an enormous ball of assorted foliage gripped in his palm. Occasional little blue/white sparks shot from his beard and hair causing it to bristle even wilder than before. The gentle <em>Keeper of Keys and Grounds</em> confessed that upon hearing the news of Hermione's recovery, he did squeeze his new stati-kitten a bit too <em>enthusiastically</em>, hence the electrical discharge every now and then.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stati-kittens, as Hermione recalled from her recent Care of Magical Creatures class, upon becoming excited or startled let off a high voltage static through their fur. Care should be taken when handling one in this state and non-conductive gloves should be worn at all times.</em>
</p>
<p>Hagrid thrust the huge bunch of flowers of all colours, species and description into a nearby vase, the glass almost looked like it bowed and sagged slightly under the strain. The young Gryffindor could only smile affectionately at the very Hagrid gesture – so kind and selfless, if a little muddled. When she inquired whether he'd get in trouble for picking so many of Hogwarts' flowers, Hagrid smiled sheepishly and admitted he may just have used a teeny bit of magic to make the flowers grow back instantly (a trick Professor Sprout had taught him on the sly). Besides he said; <em>he knew the headmaster wouldn't mind, seeing how it was for you.</em> The young witch blushed shyly at all the attention given to her and gave Hagrid a massive (although not so massive as the one he returned) hug. Sparks erupted from the pair as they embraced and pulling away, the two looked like an enormous father hedgehog and his smaller prickly daughter-hedgehog; both roared with good humoured laughter at their new appearances.</p>
<p>Once Hagrid had gone Hermione examined closer the monster bouquet that dominated the small table. Taking a tiny (in comparison) piece of paper from the mass she scrutinised it and almost felt a tear well up inside her, looking through the bunch further she saw another, and another, in fact, the whole bunch was dappled with colourful, tiny notes of parchment.</p>
<p>"<em>All the best for a speedy road to recover.</em>" One read from Madame Hooch, another said; "<em>Thinking of you and missing you in class</em>" from Professor Flitwick. "<em>Your recovery is written in the stars</em>", "<em>Like the herbs of outer Siberia, you shall grow in strength and wisdom from this darkness</em>", one by one more and more revealed their hidden messages and Hermione felt her eyes grow sore and damp from such thoughtful on her behalf from all her Professors. <em>Hagrid never mentioned this</em>, was all she could think to herself. The last one she found was the most surprising and she never expected to receive one from this particular professor – "<em>Get well soon</em>" signed, Professor Snape.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. One Last Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 13: One Last Visitor</p>
<p>It was very early morning when Hermione was officially discharged from the infirmary and allowed to return to her House dormitories and her classes - <em>That bit she really looked forward to!</em></p>
<p>Dawns early rays glinted and glistened through the diamond shaped panes of the wall long windows and tinted the whole room in a warm embrace. She was gathering up all her belongs, few as they were by the unpremeditated circumstances of her being there in the first place, but none the less essential. A bit of light reading (in other words – advanced texts on all the classes she was taking this term, plus a few extras), her quills and exercise books, parchments... the list went on but mainly consisted of her school supplies and homework assignments. At last as she'd packed the last of it into her neat cookie-brown leather bag and bent her head, hair flopping and obscuring her face as she did so, to awkwardly attempt to clasp the scuffed brass catches, when a voice caught her unawares in its surprisingly close proximity; "good morning Hermione."</p>
<p>Head shooting up in startled puzzlement at anyone else being around in the otherwise empty ward, she brushed the wayward hair out of her eyes with her none-bandaged hand to clap eyes upon the gaunt but none the less still outwardly chipper figure of Professor R J Lupin. "Oh, err, good morning Professor." She wasn't sure how to phrase the unspoken questions that instantly sprang to mind; <em>what are you doing here? I didn't expect to see you here again? How have you been since you spontaneously transformed into a werewolf before us all?</em> Miss-sensing her uncertainty of what to say as unease in his presence, he placed his pale hands up in a peaceful gesture and met her eyes solemnly; "I promise you Miss Granger, I do not, <em>nor did I ever</em>, desire to cause you harm."</p>
<p>The third year Gryffindor's eyes went wide in realisation at what impression he must have taken and tripped over her words in an effort to revert the mistaken idea. "Oh no, no, I swear to you, that's not it at all Professor. Certainly not, no." Clearing her throat she went to start again, "I was just a little <em>surprised</em> to see you... so early in the morning." She added the last bit on the spur of the moment in fear he would think she was being rude about his position at the school. Lupin smiled in that gentle, unintrusive kindness that, in their short time together, had come to embody the Professor to her. Warmth of personality like his was not something you needed to invite in; it just sort of crept up on you and seeped into your affections without your knowledge. She returned the friendly smile as a further show there was no hard feelings and she didn't fear him at all.</p>
<p>"Hermione," his voice took a slightly more urgent edge. "I haven't got a lot of time but I felt it was my duty, as your professor at least for now, to come and formally apologise for all that has happened." Hermione went to stop him, to tell him there was no need, but he insisted on continuing. <em>This was the second time in one week she'd had her teachers falling over their cloaks to apologise to her. What was next? Was Lockhart or Professor Quirrell going to show up and start apologising?</em></p>
<p>"I was reckless and unprofessional and because of my carelessness one of my students got badly hurt; I am only thankful it turned out less serious than I feared but that is no excuse none the less. One of your other professors told me that I had breached the sacred trust of my position when I not only allowed, but caused harm to a student in my care and, as loath as I am to admit it, he was completely correct." That natural twinkle that hid and danced in the DADA professor's jade eyes was currently vacant and all natural, unintended humour from his voice had vanished. This voice he spoke with was hard, self-unforgiving and painfully genuine. That was something else about Professor Lupin's personality that Hermione had also gleamed in her short time in his classes; his innate sincerity. Even when she'd discovered and blurted out his most shameful, most frightful secret as though she'd admitted he liked pink or something equally trivial; <em>did he deny it? Did he claim she was mad? Or try to discourage or discredit her in any way at all?</em> No. He openly admitted the fact, despite the threat of ruin, of prejudice, of violence and hatred that constantly hung over his head like a swinging blade.</p>
<p>She regarded the Defence Arts Professor quizzically with her keen eyes; on first outward appearances he looked like the same slightly dishevelled Professor R J Lupin she'd first met on the train and many other times in his classes or around Hogwarts. However, if she peered closer, she noticed little details about him that seemed not so usual; the thick woodland of stubble that spread around his chin, the dark hollows beneath his normally sparkling green eyes, the eyes themselves seeming matte, blunt and rimmed in red rather than the keen eyes full of wisdom and knowledge, and overall he appeared much more <em>tired</em> – true, it did look as though he hadn't slept for far too long, but also tired of yet again discovering another place where he cannot fully join humanity. And perhaps, tired of feeling guilty for a curse he could not control.</p>
<p>Lupin was speaking again as though no time had passed at all, "I don't expect you, of all the people, to forgive me for everything that I put you through, but nevertheless, I am so very deeply sorry for all the harm and pain that I caused you. I, of all people, as your professor should never have been the one to inflict that, on the contrary; I should have guarded you against it." Some of the old twinkle returned briefly to his features as he joked; "<em>after all</em>, I was your Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher."</p>
<p>This time Hermione made no analysis of Lupin – there was really no need. His confession of his guilt and heartfelt apology all rang completely true and was just in line with the good professor's nature. She met his eyes and smiled a broad smile at him. "Thank you very much for your apology Professor, I really mean it," she began, "it took great courage and really showed the measure of the man you are but-" Lupin's face fell slightly in resigned acknowledgement that it was worth a try but understood her decision, "there is really no need." The third year witch had turned the tables on him; now it was the teacher's turn to look baffled and be taught by the student. "You see," she clarified, "I never blamed you for an instant to start with."</p>
<p>Lupin began to protest but it was the young witch's turn to be firm in being allowed to explain, "You see Professor, whilst you were detained with your condition Professor Snape set us a 2 scroll essay on werewolves." His almost amused face could be read as; that's just the kind of thing Severus would do. "I'd already done a bit of private study into nocturnal creatures and beasts for a bit of light reading in my second year but I did some updated research for this project. As I already suspected from my previous studies;</p>
<p>
  <em>Werewolves have no control over their thoughts or actions once transformed and will act against even their most basic, core-rooted beliefs, morals and rationality.</em>
</p>
<p>It was never your fault that you could not act as you would as our professor when altered and it's no indication of weakness of self control or disregard for what you believe a teacher stands for. We all know you are a skilled professor who adores teaching and would never do anything to harm any student – intentionally or indirectly. So thank you for your apology Professor, but I cannot accept it as there is nothing you need to be sorry for."</p>
<p>The DADA professor still stood stark still, looking as though a snake had just slunk up his trouser leg or like he was an old tree still absorbing all the information slowly through his rooted to the spot feet. Eventually his curious expression broke into the warm familiar smile of their teacher; "you know" he stated thoughtfully but all the same rather proudly, "you really <em>are</em> the brightest witch of your age."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In this chapter, I'm not completely happy with Hermione's reasoning but sadly, inspiration wasn't on my side with this no matter how much I considered it. So let's all be kind, and assume it shows Hermione's generous and forgiving personality (which was my desired intention). Hope you liked it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Leaving So Soon?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 14: Leaving So Soon?</p>
<p>Everyone was relieved to see Hermione still in one piece when she zealously returned to classes and back to enthusiastically thrusting her hand in the air to answer questions or jotting frantically (her arm had been allowed out of its heavy bandages now and she wrote freely with her right hand) anything and everything the Professors said. Nothing felt as though it had changed since before the full moon, but <em>of course</em>, that wasn't strictly true.</p>
<p>It was one day at breakfast when the usual trio of friends sat at the Gryffindor table amongst mountains of toast, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, and bacon; all enchanted to always stay hot and fresh no matter how long it sat there. Hermione looked up the teacher's table at the head of the Great Hall and whispered suspiciously; "where's Professor Lupin?" All three turned their head to his vacant place between the Master of Potions and History of Magic Professor. Snape seemed to notice the three of them staring as he peered up from his plate but in an uncharacteristic show of tolerance, pretended he didn't. Although nobody voiced it, an element of worry had clouded the patch of bench the three students sat at and none of them would feel happy until they got to the bottom of this. In unison, all three got up from their unfinished breakfasts and headed hastily for the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom.</p>
<p>On their way however, inspiration struck Hermione and she diverted abruptly from her course and headed towards a completely new pursuit. Harry and Ron shared a baffled look between them before running to keep up with their companion. "Hermione, wait!" Ron protested but nothing slowed the young witch down. Eventually when they all turned to come face to face with the large polished griffin statue, everyone knew whether they were – the Headmaster's Office.</p>
<p>Wheeling around to face them before she uttered the password, Hermione finally offered some form of explanation; "that's what he was trying to tell me!" she said urgently. "I've been such an idiot! He gave me all the clues and I didn't even realise. <em>Merlin</em>, I've been so blind!"</p>
<p>The two wizards faces told her that they still needed more information so Hermione sighed exasperatedly like she was dealing with a couple of very slow students who needed extra tutoring; "The morning I was discharged from the Infirmary Professor Lupin visited me, he said he came to apologise - which he did - but there was also something else." Squinting her eyes in the effort of trying to remember something fuzzy she concentrated; "I haven't got much time... After all, I was your Defence teacher - was!" Hemione resumed her normal vision to see the others still look confused. "Was", she repeated, "don't you see? He used the past tense when talking about his position. He was telling me he'd already lost his job!"</p>
<p>Realisation slowly dawned on the other Gryffindors as they stood there; "so that means -" Ron pieced together but Hermione was quicker.</p>
<p>"That means Professor Dumbledore must have fired him before he visited me that morning. So that's why we're here." Speaking the password loudly and firmly, the trio ascended the emerging staircase impatiently.</p>
<p>When the three arrived into the Headmaster's Office it appeared to be empty. All apart from Fawkes of course, who eyed them quizzically from his perch, as if to say; <em>what have you three been up to if you've be sent here so early?</em> Harry recognised him instantly and went over to stroke his smouldering plumage carefully in greeting. Ron looked superficially around the apparently deserted room and shrugging to the others concluded; "looks like no one's in."</p>
<p>"Good morning Mr Weasley!" A chirpy voice from directly behind him sounded. All three heads swivelled in unison to see the beaming Headmaster towering over Ron who had leap away several feet in scared-to-death alarm; something which only seemed to amuse the Headmaster even more. His beard rippled like a stormy sea as he regarded affectionately the three Gryffindors, particularly Hermione and addressed her; "Hermione, my dear, so good to see you up and about again. I trust that you are keeping well?"</p>
<p>Hermione, rather taken aback by the sudden attention answered a simple and polite response. "And Harry, I saw that marvellous game you played against Hufflepuff the other week, you really have inherited your father's talent for Quiddich."</p>
<p>Now it was Ron's turn; "oh and Ron, I hear your Defence Against the Dark Arts is coming on in leaps and bounds; when I heard from Professor Lupin what you did with that boggart – <em>oh, how I laughed!</em>"</p>
<p>The mention of the aforementioned subject brought all three students back on track to what they had come to discuss. "Actually, Headmaster," Hermione began respectfully steering the conversation back to why they were here, "that's the reason we wished to see you."</p>
<p>Dumbledore sat himself at his desk, folded his arms on top to give them his full attention and beamed his usual warm, gentle smile when he (as he would put it) <em>talked shop</em>; "Of course, my young friends. My office is always open for the concerns of my students. Can I offer you anything to drink? Here, have a seat, won't you?" With an effortless wave of his hand three comfy, if rather tatty, chairs dropped from nowhere with a small thud behind each student. Tentatively they all took their seats;</p>
<p>"You see, Professor, it's about Professor Lupin."</p>
<p>"Oh yes?" Dumbledore sipped something hot and steaming from a bone china cup, "so sorry to see him go. He was a fine teacher I'm sure you'll agree."</p>
<p>The three witch and wizards faces dropped and Dumbledore cheery mood mellowed for the time-being too; "oh I'm sorry, didn't you know?"</p>
<p>"Well actually, to ask that was what we came here to see you about." Harry confirmed.</p>
<p>Without warning, Hermione rose from her chair and spoke out boldly, "I've come to ask you to allow him to keep his job." She stated plainly. "It was not the Professors fault about the <em>incident</em> and the deep remorse and responsibility he feels over it proves his worth and sense of duty as a teacher."</p>
<p>The old Professor looked a little hurt by the assumption that he'd removed him from his position in the first place. "Miss Granger, as affirming as your belief in Lupin is, it is not I who forced him to leave." All three third years eyes were fixed on the Headmaster, their brows incomprehensively met in the middle like a couple of magnets. Realising this was more complicated than she first anticipated, Hermione sat once more. "Indeed, he chose to resign himself." At this he let out a sigh, "pity really, it's so difficult to get decent Defence teachers these days..."</p>
<p>As the trio descended the final few steps out of the Headmaster's Office, their confused expressions had remained put. It was often the way, Hermione in her years of experience on this topic mused, <em>that, more often than not, when you went in search of answers, you usually just ended up with more questions instead.</em> No one spoke and yet all three found themselves making their way to their next port of enquiry; the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom and Professor Lupin's Office.</p>
<p>Their questions were half answered when they arrived and found the room almost cleared of anything that Professor Lupin had added since the beginning of the year; all his books and charms and historical defence artefacts, even his gramophone were all absent. The dusty winged skeleton hanging from its usual spot on the ceiling was the only familiar decor in sight. This only added to the knot of uncertainty that tightened minute by minute in their stomachs – perhaps they were already too late? This tension did relieve slightly, however, when Professor Lupin appeared from a storage cupboard behind the stairs and seemed somewhat startled by the group of third years that had infiltrated his hasty departure. "Oh, it's you three." The tone was still kindly and welcoming, if a bit surprised and perhaps a little disappointed that his plans to slink away quietly had been clearly scuppered.</p>
<p>"You're not going, are you?" Harry, in true Gryffindor style, got straight to the point. None of the three third years could hide the expression of disappointment in their features when the Professor confirmed the fact.</p>
<p>Lupin smiled mildly and with a note of affection at his students – although they were this no longer – and their loyalty to a teacher they'd only known for one year of their schooling. But his face fell a little as he also remembered; <em>a teacher who had also attacked one of them and almost cursed her for life.</em> The former Professor tried to explain why he had no choice and that, deep inside, his dearest wish was to remain at Hogwarts and watch his students grow and learn and eventually graduate. "You see Harry, Ron, Hermione," he looked at each in turn to make sure they all understood; their disappointed eyes never leaving his, "with the news of my condition commonly known amongst teachers and students alike, it will only be a matter of time before the parents and Ministry of Magic will start making trouble for Dumbledore. To be honest, it's a miracle the Ministry haven't arrested Dumbledore and myself already." He smiled at the half joke but found the others were too saddened to join in. "Besides, you'll get a new Defence teacher; one that won't be as much of a danger to you and your fellow students as the creatures he lectures about."</p>
<p>Hermione looked ashen as she spoke, mumbling at first to keep the emotion from her voice before she eventually spoke up and to hell if they heard how distressed she was; "I'm... I'm sorry Professor."</p>
<p>Remus Lupin looked as shocked by her response as if he'd been physically struck by her. <em>"You're sorry?"</em> he clarified still unsure he heard correctly but when he saw the unshed tears sparkle in her eyes he knew that's what she'd said and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, "my dear girl, what in Merlin's name have you got to be sorry for?"</p>
<p>But the young witch couldn't be pacified that simply; "it's my fault Professor," her fellow third years looked just an unclear on her meaning as their former Professor, "you're leaving because I got hurt, aren't you?"</p>
<p>"Not so much because you got hurt as because <em>I was the one that hurt you-</em>" Lupin corrected but the female Gryffindor didn't care about the slight discrepancy;</p>
<p>"But it wasn't your fault!" she was surprised by her own fury as she spoke forcefully. "This isn't right. You might be a werewolf, but you're also the most splendid teacher we've ever had." She said, this time a bit quieter but still laced in fierce determination. His face never changed from its fixed smile mixing pride, gratification and perhaps just a hint of sorrow; he knew they'd tried to convince Dumbledore to keep his job and he had little doubt that if the Ministry were to come knocking on their door right this minute, they would happily argue the point with Fudge too. But the decision, although it wasn't really his, was nevertheless still final.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>Picking up the last remnants of his luggage and draping his cloak his over his arm, Professor – no, just regular R J Lupin now, cast one finally eye over the classroom that was no longer his. The only students who really knew of his departure had left over an hour ago; the news was travelling fast around the school as always but, even at its current speed by the time too many people discovered the truth, he'd be long gone. Even the skeleton who'd hung there for decades whilst beneath him students and teachers would come and go (not all of the Defence Professors by choice and most of them rather too quickly to be natural) seemed to look just a little bit sadder to see him depart this final time. Remus pondered to himself in his whimsical fashion who the next teacher would be who'd stand before a class of eager students, all under the skeleton's perennial, hollow glare. The room looked so bare, just like when he'd first arrived back at Hogwarts after all those years from when he was just a boy himself. He'd opened that very same door and seen, not an empty room, but a room full of potential for a fresh start and a chance to make a positive influence. Now looking at the room, with its potential vanquished, it just appeared empty. With the sudden feeling that there was no longer anything for him here, he slowly, somewhat reluctantly closed the door behind him for the last time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Flashbacks and Flash-Bombs in Potions Class</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here we are, the final chapter in this (hopefully not the last) little tale from the world of Hogwarts. Thank you so much from the bottom of my boots for taking the time to read this and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it even a fraction of the amount I did writing it. Please stay tuned, I hope to have more Potter-y goodness coming very soon (I hope). I can't say I'm very good at writing endings and this chapter did end up being rather long but, fingers crossed, you think it ends in a satisfactory way.<br/>The alternative title for this chapter is <em>The True Motivations of Severus Snape</em>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain poured in a relentless deluge outside the paned gothic windows of Hogwarts and the students of all years and Houses were, for once, glad to be in the warmth of their classes rather than roaming the grounds, wondering to Hogsmead or playing Quiddich. Not that the Dungeons ever were particularly warm, at least to anyone of anything but Slytherin blood. Professor Snape stood as usual; a tall, lean figure enveloped completely in black even down to his hair, at the front of the class and tapped his chalk harshly on the board in an attempt to get his class to cease talking. Against the continual chatter and monsoon pouring down outside, his little irritating tapping was making little impact. He sighed and resorted to his usual methods; "silence!"</p>
<p>Unaware that the Potions Professor had been waiting for them, fearful heads turned immediately to try and fool him they'd been paying attention the whole time. Snape sighed to himself again at the lack of interest or real potential any of his students showed for the subject. Nevertheless, he'd wasted enough time getting the lesson started so he'd decided begin;</p>
<p>"Today, we shall be looking at defensive potion making." A few faces perked up at the mention of a more dynamic area of his subject, a few faces looked baffled as to what that meant; the majority decided to remain neutral until further information was available. Snape supplied them with it; "when in a situation where you are required to defend yourself, there will not always be the time or circumstances available to you to cast an incantation. Also, there is to consider the facts that some dark creatures may be immune to or too powerful for the level of magic you yet wield. Furthermore, your wand may become broken, lost or inoperative during such circumstances. So, Mr Longbottom, what <em>exactly</em> would you do in that situation?"</p>
<p>Neville looked like a startled jackalope caught in the lights of an open tavern door. Before he even had the chance to think of an answer however, the Professor impatiently opened the question up to the whole class. When no one raised their hands, not even Hermione, Snape once again despaired at the lack of independent study these students did in his subject – <em>why, at their age he'd practically read the library's entire sections on potions and elixirs.</em> "Nobody?" Snape rumbled in disapproval like an active volcano deciding whether to erupt, "how <em>disappointing</em> that should a lethifold or acromantula stroll in here the best you could do would be to throw your textbooks at it." The familiar sneered of amusement at his students' shortcomings entered his voice; it's a good job he was about to give them an alternative in combat to hurling books.</p>
<p>"Defensive potions are used as a pre-prepared, instant and high effective form of defence against creatures, or even wizards, of the Dark Arts - especially when spells and the use of conventional magic are impractical. They are stored in spherical bottles which should be thrown either directly at the enemy or as near the enemy's feet as possible and may provide on impact a potent odour, harmful fumes, small projectiles, a particular repellent, binding spells or even a searing light. The purpose of which will either allow the user a means of escape or opportunity to rally an attack whilst the enemy's guard is still low."</p>
<p>"Now, as you have made it plain that none of you know even the basics of Defensive Potion making, we shall begin by making <em>Subito Lux</em> - a flash bomb – the most elementary and less hazardous of the potions." Taking the piece of chalk still clutched in his long fingers, the Potions Master flicked his cloak out the way as his arm reached up to the board, as usually it created the sound of a mini-hurricane whooshing past. He started jotting down rapid calculations, chemistry equations and chemical compounds expertly whilst explaining their principals with the unsaid but nonetheless still strict expectation that notes should be taken. Everyone wearily turned their exercise books to a free page and even less enthusiastically took out a quill. Hermione did not do this however, true, she'd already been taking notes feverously but she paused and stared at Snape in an expression close to déjà vu; like her mind was reaching out for something not quite in her grasp and unsure what it was looking for either. It was something about that motion - <em>that</em> sound – that cut through the still raging downpour outside and even Snape's explanations - she couldn't quite understand why it was so significant. The cloak swooping back; the sound of a thousand feathered wings beating in a strong wind. Her mind instantly was hurled back to the silvery crow of her dreams, slowly flapping its vast shimmering wings as it protected her from her nightmare and its cryptic association with the word <em>Professor</em> just before she awoke. Every other noise in the classroom fell away; the Professor's lecture, the scrabbled scrapping of the chalk on the board, the manic scratching of quills on parchment and the Biblical-scale flood flowing outside – everything fell silent to her except the powerful beat of the wings. She peered quizzically like her eyes couldn't quite find focus, at the Professor currently teaching who was still explaining how the combination of ingredients in precise and acute amounts produced the desired flare.</p>
<p>
  <em>Snape and her dream; What was the connection?</em>
</p>
<p>Her mind offered teasing, almost tangible snippets of memory in response to her question;</p>
<p>
  <em>The moon peeking through its cloud cover, she vaguely remembered calling Harry to warn him, Professor Lupin crying out in fearful agony as the curse took hold, the blood-chilling howl, the black Grim's low growl and something else. A figure in black stepping before the Gryffindors, arms outstretched, herding the three behind him in an effort to keep them safe. Even when the werewolf advanced once more upon the huddling group, the Professor unflinchingly held his ground. The slash of claws against his heavy robes and their protector fell away to the ground. And fangs; horrible large fangs far too close.</em>
</p>
<p>With a jolt, like being awoken bluntly from a dream, Hermione's eyes blinked deliberately and her attention came back to the present. Her head fizzed with the jumble of memories and images frothing in her mind. <em>She would piece it all together and get to the truth, eventually.</em> But right now, although it wasn't completely clear to her – she eyed Professor Snape once more who was chalking a list of ingredients onto the blackboard – and inwardly smiled to herself assuredly. She wasn't quite sure yet what was going on but her instincts told her that the sullen Head of Slytherin was hiding another, perhaps more admirable quality to his nature and for the first time in the three years she'd spent at Hogwarts, she felt her capacity to trust him grow tentatively. Although she couldn't explain why, let alone prove anything, she was also sure he had something to do with her recovery too.</p>
<p>"Any student who has not bothered to bring their <em>minimum factor-900 goggles</em> to class will be ordered to run back to their respective Houses to fetch them in no longer than 5 minutes. In addition, they shall also compile me an entire scroll on why it is they clearly do not value their eyesight." Snape's booming warning to the class as a whole awoke Hermione from her thoughts once more and, realising she'd (for once in her life) not taken a single note of what the Professor had said, hurriedly packed away the notebook and hoped he wouldn't notice or ask her any awkward questions.</p>
<p>The class shuffled out in a somewhat orderly fashion at the dismissal of their Professor via his desk on which they deposited their homework assignments. Overall, the <em>Subito Lux</em> hadn't been hugely successful; Seamus Finnigan had managed to set fire to his workbench when his potion decided to explode before he was ready, although Hermione was pretty sure she, Ron and Harry had managed a <em>passable</em> flash bomb effort. The three friends were about the last of the steady trickle of students to gather their stuff and depart when Ron's face went ashen and he looked about to faint, he started to search at first meticulously but then frantically through his messenger bag. Hermione, who was not thrilled at being held up by this scene asked curtly; "Ronald, what <em>is</em> the matter?"</p>
<p>Ron continued his search with no response for a few more minutes before saying vaguely; "so that's what it ate! <em>Oh bloody hell, why did it have to be that?"</em></p>
<p>Hermione felt she was missing something from this and turned to Harry in the hopes he would fill her in, he too pulled a <em>haven't-a-clue</em> face and shrugged loosely. Once the redhead had completed turning out the contents of his bag onto a workbench and still concluded it – <em>whatever it was</em> – was still absent his face blanched even further until he looked as deathly pale as Snape himself. "It's gone." He stated rather unnecessarily and the others, losing their tether at all this mystery, both a tad unsympathetically asked what <em>it</em> was. "My assignment," Ron spoke almost in a hollow, trance-like voice with eyes rounder than Trelawney's crystal balls.</p>
<p>All the while Professor Snape, who'd grown impatient at waiting for them to leave, had sat himself back at his desk behind the shaky mountains of marking and made a start on one at random. They had a feeling that he was still calculatedly assessing everything that was happening, even if he was blatantly choosing to ignore it. Lowering his voice to a whisper Ron explained, "it must have been when my we had that spot of bother with the <em>Monster Book of Monsters</em>; remember Harry? When it ran wild in the dorms all night and we had to leave out a jam sandwich to catch it?" Rolling his eyes, Harry nodded wearily at that recollection, Hermione looked a mixture of dismayed and repulsed at what the boys evidently got up to in their dorms, "well I reckon, it must have eaten my assignment too, before we caught it." When the witch amongst them gave Ron an reproachfully look of disbelief, Ron's voice rose ever so slightly in defiance before fear subsided it once more, "honestly Hermione, who'd think a book would eat a parchment? I mean, that's practically cannibalism, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the Potions Master who'd grown frustrated in pretending that the wayward third years were gone and, although his eyes never left the work he was still marking nor did his voluptuous quill ever stop fluttering in a quick script, his deep voice did reach out to meet them across the empty classroom. "Unless you three are planning to take up residence in my office on a permanent basis, I suggest you all remove yourselves to your next lessons. I will not be handing out any excuses for lateness or dishevelment upon arrival."</p>
<p>All three eyed each other in a look of <em>now or never</em> and stepped before the teacher's desk. Before Ron could babble his excuse though and land himself (and even his friends) into more trouble, however, Hermione's respectful tone rose; "please Sir," she began. "I'm afraid there was an accident involving one of our other assignments and Ron's copy of your essay got destroyed in the process. Both Harry and I can confirm that he definitely did complete the essay..." The words rather lost their trail when the otherwise ignoring dark eyes of the Potion's Professor, shot up from the desk to meet them. For a moment, when Snape peered at the three, particularly Hermione's sincere eyes, his harsh gaze softened ever so slightly, but before anyone could register it, the steely front had returned once more.</p>
<p>"An interesting tale, Miss Granger," his voice remained level and completely unreadable, "against my better judgement I do believe there is some merit in it." It took all of Hermione's self control not to show the utter disbelief she felt at this. "However, I will expect a new copy of the assignment on my desk, first thing tomorrow. It will take me until then to get to yours in the pile anyway Mr Weasley so as far as I'm concerned you have already handed it in. If I come to your assignment in the pile tomorrow and find it absent, however," some of the usual threat in his otherwise almost tolerant voice returned and allowed specific pauses between each word; "<em>there will be consequences.</em>"</p>
<p>Ron too was having a difficult time processing what had just happened; <em>had he just been given a 24 hour extension from the Dungeon Dragon himself? No detention? No scrubbing rusty cauldrons? No being strung up in the dungeon all night? Not even a loud telling off? Blimey!</em> Realising suddenly he still hadn't said anything and a lull was forming in their discussion Ron swiftly assembled a suitable reply; "Understood Sir. Thank you Sir." Short but did the job.</p>
<p>The three Gryffindors scuttled out of the classroom with rain still hammering its attack against the window's glass before the Professor could change his mind, or inform them it was all a cruel joke and he'd see them all in detention later. Once he was sure that they were actually gone for good this time, Snape stopped pretending to be engrossed in his marking – although how they thought he could concentrate with their bickering and conspiratorial whispering in the corner was anyone's guess! He took a moment to assess what he'd just allowed – that idiot Weasley, shirker Potter and know-it-all Granger to stroll out of his classroom with one homework assignment still unaccountable. He rose from his seat and wafted around the edge of his desk as soundlessly and dark as a dreaded Dementor to collect the results of his class's efforts in <em>Subito Lux</em> making. It's true he could have done it with a carefree wave of his hand but this gave him time to think and besides, with the unstable concoctions his students had probably made, they would more than likely explode on contact with any magic.</p>
<p>Perhaps he was losing his touch with the students – getting too caring and soft. Perhaps his ordeal with a student getting injured under his watch had left a lasting residual effect to his teaching style and he was allowing himself to appear just a bit too obvious with his kindness. But one thing was certain, if Mr Weasley didn't use this gracious offer wisely and fabricate a new essay by tomorrow morning, he would be certain to reaffirm his infamous strictness and give him a week of cauldron scrubbing duties.</p>
<p>Even if he secretly did care about his students more than he would ever dare show; even if he would throw himself in front of them when endangered (even his most infuriating ones) without a second thought, and feel the huge and constant weight of responsibility for them, even if he was willing to risk being caught by Filch in the dead of night or hazard attempting unpredictable potions for their sake and sneak around his own school like a thief in the night so as no one would find out about his good deeds. Even if he felt compelled to lecture other Professors on their behaviour and their sacred position to those students and risk his own job in pursuit of his sense of duty, even if he did it all that under the noses of unsuspecting teachers and students alike; he would be certain, unlike that soft-hearted old fool Dumbledore, to never, ever let anyone know about the lengths he went for his students. His kindness, his feelings of responsibility and protection towards all his pupils, regardless of their Houses (although Slytherins would always hold a special place for him), his harsh measures that were usually aimed to direct them towards hard graft and self-improvement, even his love for his position and teaching in general; all of it – the <em>true motivations of Severus Snape</em> - must remain in that secret part of himself that maybe only one other person ever got to truly see. And it shall remain that way; <em>always.</em></p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>